Reasons
by hairsprayheart
Summary: Some things just can’t be explained. He, and his relationship with her, could aptly be described as such. PUSHING DAISIES oneshot. Why he thinks that he loves her... why he knows he shouldn't.


Reasons

A _Pushing Daisies_ One-shot

by hairsprayheart

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**AN: This is a Pushing Daisies one-shot that describes one of the character's feelings for another. I tried to make it pretty ambiguous, meaning that you can picture it as **_**almost**_** any pairing, but the true pairing is revealed at the end. (So you don't have to read the end if you want to stick with your own pairing. :D) Thanks for reading!**

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Some things just can't be explained.

He, and his relationship with _her_, could aptly be described as such.

But, being who he was, he had to _try_ to explain it.

He was rough with her, sometimes, because he didn't want her to know the exact extent of his true feelings for her. He didn't want her to know his feelings about her because they were more intense than even his friends, or her, or even he himself could have ever imagined.

He was nice to her, sometimes, because he just couldn't help himself. Sometimes the feelings spilled out a little bit. In a tiny, unsuspicious manner that could be taken just as friendship, or maybe habit. (He did obviously see quite a bit of her.) But for the most part, he still hid his feelings.

He hid his feelings because he didn't have room for a normal relationship. (Not that they could have a normal relationship.) All his past ones had been an absolute disaster, anyway. His job (or rather, multiple jobs, he supposed you might say) was extremely demanding. He was busy and inattentive and selfish. He didn't, really really didn't, deserve her. And foremost, he didn't want to screw up anyone else's life, particularly hers, when his own was so much that way.

He didn't want her fully involved with his work because it wasn't safe for her. He never let her come along. He had dealt with dangerous criminals, been a part in the solving multiple murders, and feared for his own life on quite a few occasions. He couldn't drag her into that kind of life. It was all so secretive and dangerous and nothing at all like the movies. And as far as those secrets… he couldn't tell her them, because they could hurt her, too. It was true that he had told her _some_ of his secrets, but there were many more that might be revealed. Painfully. So while he worked with her sometimes, she could never know about everything.

He messed around with other women because he knew that he couldn't have her. Well, technically, it was only one woman that he had messed around with. On one or two occasions. Maybe just one. See? He couldn't even remember, really. It wasn't that big of a thing. But he _was_ somewhat close to her. She was intelligent and funny and a little bit bossy, a little bit crazy. He was fond of that woman, too, but not in the way he was fond of the other.

He loved her. Because… Because… Now, that was more difficult to explain. Why do you love someone? Why does anyone ever love anyone? He supposed it was a combination of all the wonderful and unique attributes that were _her_. He loved everything about her. He loved her hair and wished he could run his fingers through it. He loved her eyes, so expressive, even though she did plenty of that with her voice alone. He loved her voice, also, which was as sweet as honey, and her musical laugh. Her lithe body was pure art, and how he wished he could paint it himself. She was like sunshine in his dark life. Sure, they hadn't known each other that long, _really_, but did that matter when you were in love?

And he told her that the other man didn't love her, because he wanted her to love _him_.

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But he knew it couldn't, shouldn't, _wouldn't_ happen.

Well, firstly, this was so unlike him. He was a practical man who (for the most part) lived by the rules. Now, here he was, having day dreams about a woman and falling in love like some hormonal teenager. And they annoyed the crap out of each other every once in a while. She probably outright hated him some – most? – of the time.

Also, they were just too different for it to work out. They were polar opposites. She was short, he was tall. She was happy, cheerful even, while he was haunted by the remnants of a dark past. His work always, always came before his love life, while both of hers simply encompassed each other. She was always open, and he kept most of himself locked up deep in his mind.

And the real reason: she was too in love, and it wasn't with him.

She had tried to hide it from him, but he knew. She had boldly asked him once about it. They talked briefly before he had just stormed away.

He was making excuses, miserable excuses, pathetic excuses. He knew it and it only made him feel more miserable and pathetic himself. But he might as well just give up. The only way to do it was to make it seem logical. He had never surrendered to anything before, but maybe it was time to stop being so stubborn and just forget about it. For one the first times, he had no idea what he was going to do. He had lost control. And he absolutely hated it.

He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. His life didn't make any sense. And she was the reason.

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He put down his needles, useful stress-relieving tools, and took a hearty bite of his pizza. He savored the round black vegetables it was topped with. As he did so, he pictured her blond head pressed into his chest, her tiny form decked out in her orange uniform as they embraced, and she looked up to flash a dazzling smile at him.

Then he donned his glasses, took his detective's notepad and began writing and writing and writing. He haphazardly stapled the papers together and stuffed them into an envelope, scribbling her address at Liberty Apartments (that had been so long unoccupied those few months ago) onto it.

Then he cursed and tossed it all into a nearby trash bin. He lit one of his fine cigars and took a single puff of it before it followed the envelope into the trashcan. He watched them burn, and forced a chuckle from his throat. He told himself that he was being ridiculous. He told himself that he didn't really feel what he thought he was feeling. He told himself that he would not tell her no matter how badly he wanted to.

Because he was too afraid of what would happen if he didn't.

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**AN: (again, sorry) So this was my first EmersonxOlive fic. I'm not quite sure what I think about it. But it was just screaming at me to be written. Hope it wasn't terrible. :/**


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